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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041549">supercuts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh'>itisjosh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dreamwastaken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>:D, Break Up, Crying, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage, Memories, Moving On, OR IS IT, Post-Break Up, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Songfic, does that make it a songfic idfk, except they're bad at moving on, george takes it worse than dream does, i wanted angst, not really a songfic but it's based off of a song, patches is there too, the second chapter is sad, you've all be spoiled have this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:48:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I, um..I’m here for my things. I texted you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” George breathes in, turning away. “Just..come in.”</p><p>("supercuts" - jeremy zucker)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>584</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. supercuts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream has <em> really </em> not been looking forward to this. It had been a while now, maybe a week or two? But it’s still hard, even for him. He sighs, hand hovering by George’s door. He doesn’t want to knock. Is knocking weird? Is ringing the doorbell weird? Which one is less formal? He scoffs, knocking in a rhythm George would recognise. It used to be their door, just a little bit ago. But it’s George’s door now, and that’s okay. He hears the door creak open, and.. <em> fuck </em>. This was harder than he thought. </p><p>“Hi.” George’s eyes are red, his nose the same colour. Was he..was he crying? Dream looks away, shuffling his feet.</p><p>“Hey,” he thought they were both over the whole..raw, fresh pain. It had been a week or two now, was George still..Dream can’t really say shit. He still cries every time he turns over in bed and George isn’t there, snoring like he’s about to die. “I, um..I’m here for my things. I texted you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” George breathes in, turning away. “Just..come in.” So Dream does, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks around. The living room is filled with ghosts of who they were, even if those ghosts aren’t very old. He remembers accidentally breaking their coffee table when he flopped on the couch, slamming his feet up on the old thing a little too hard. George didn’t stop laughing until he almost passed out and turned purple, which made Dream start to wheeze, and <em> he </em> almost passed out. </p><p>“Um,” Dream clears his throat. “I..I just have some stuff in the bedroom. And a few things in the kitchen, I think. And that..that should be it.” </p><p>“Okay.” Is all George says, and Dream doesn’t know what else he expects. Breakups are hard. They’re so, so hard. Dream thinks that he knew, he thinks he knew that the relationship wouldn’t last. That it was going downhill before it even started to show signs. He thought that once he got a grip on whatever it was that was going downhill, maybe he’d be able to change it. But just because he was in control of making it go downhill didn’t mean he could stop it. He lets George stay in the living room, not like he has much of a choice, and starts up the stairs to their room. To George’s room. </p><p>
  <em> “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you! Just..fuck you, George. What the hell?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, fuck you,” George had sneered. “You think that you can just..you know what, fuck you. Get out.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t want you here! I hate you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “George, you..you don’t mean that.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I do. I hate you. Get out.” </em>
</p><p>Dream blinks, shaking his head at the memory. He had been the one to start the argument. It had been his fault. He got annoyed with some stupid, snarky, off-handed comment George made about not needing him anymore, and he just..snapped. He had ended his stream without saying anything and then told his then-boyfriend to do the same, and he did. And then they fought. A lot. God, it was a lot of yelling. He shakes his head, opening the bedroom door. Tissues are thrown around the room, Dream’s clothes scattered on the bed. He closes his eyes, guilt seeping into his chest. </p><p>
  <em> “I didn’t mean it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is it still what you want?” George had been crying then. “Do you still want this?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t know.” </em>
</p><p>They never made up after that fight. It got worse, and they didn’t talk to each other about it other than that one time, but it didn’t even matter, because nothing came of that, anyways. Dream didn’t want to break up. He didn’t. He wanted to stay with George, he thought that they were..soulmates, or whatever. He doesn’t believe in that shit, but George made him feel like that. Dream knows that George didn’t want to end it either, but it’s easier than talking about it, right? God, they’ve always been so shit at talking to each other. He spots his suitcase by the bed, moves over to grab it. Dream starts to shove his clothes in there, pulling them from his side of the closet. He spots his favourite jacket, that stupid green one, laying on George’s bed. He pauses, shifting on his feet before he leaves the room without it. Maybe George’ll burn it, or something. Maybe it’ll help both of them move on. </p><p>
  <em> “I love you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I love you too.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why are we fighting all the time, then?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Can we just..not bring this up right now? I’m busy.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Whatever.” </em>
</p><p>Dream trails down the stairs. Most of his shit in the room were just..clothes. He doesn’t care that much about anything else, actually. He just wants his clothes so he can have something else to wear for once. George can keep his stupid figurines, or his Yootooz, or whatever, it doesn’t <em> matter </em> . Maybe George’ll burn those, too. He spots George on their - <em> his </em> - couch, scrolling through his phone. Dream pauses, wondering if he should take his part of the kitchen. For the most part, he did the cooking. For the most part, he cooked things and made sure George didn’t constantly DoorDash shit every day. He shakes his head, deciding to just leave it. He wants George to take care of himself, and if he doesn’t even have spoons, how the hell is he gonna manage?</p><p>“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ve got everything.”</p><p>“Everything?” George stares at him. “You didn’t even..you weren’t here for very long.” Dream winces, squaring his shoulders.</p><p>“I..I didn’t want to be here too long,” <em> fuck </em>, wrong thing. This time George winces, turning away from him. He opens his mouth to try to make it right, to take it back, but..what does it matter? They aren’t together anymore. “I, um, I guess I’ll be going.”</p><p>“Yeah,” George agrees. “Bye.”</p><p>“Bye,” he breathes out, having a hard time making his body function. “George.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Dream turns back to look at him, a look of pleading in his eyes. “Please take care of yourself.” George’s eyes soften, and Dream can see his lip tremble, his hands shaking. </p><p>Neither of them wanted this.</p><p>Neither of them wanted to break up.</p><p>He waits for George to tell him that, to tell him he’s still in love with him, that they can make this work, but he doesn’t. “Yeah,” is all he says. “You too.” Dream..he isn’t going to be the one who crawls back on his knees and begs for forgiveness. He wants to. He should, he thinks. Maybe if he does it soon enough, there’s a chance they’ll be okay. Maybe if he can fix this..</p><p>He opens the door. Shuffles out of it, shrugs his suitcase over his shoulder like a backpack. </p><p>Dream closes the door. He waits for a second, to see if George comes running out, slamming it back open, crying and telling Dream that they can fix it. But it’s not like the movies, Dream thinks. Life is more real, and that doesn’t happen in real life. So he walks, and he doesn’t turn back, no matter how much his head, and heart, are screaming at him. Life isn’t like the movies, people don’t just get back together because they decide that they’re sorry. Maybe have makeup sex and then they get married and go live in the fucking suburbs and have kids. That’s not how it works.</p><p>But even as he walks, Dream wishes that it did work like that. He wishes he had George back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. you were good to me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>since u losers wanted it, here it is :D<br/>question: do you guys want a happy ending or an angsty one? i'll do whatever lmao i don't mind</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"You know, I think I'm in love with you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What?" Dream's signature surprised "WHAT" had made George laugh, even if he was terrified. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You heard me."</em>
</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>George blinks, his eyes adjusting to the light around him. Had he fallen asleep again? On the couch, really? What the fuck's wrong with him? He sighs, closing his eyes again, throwing his arm over his face. Of course. It's not like he likes going to the bedroom. His bedroom. It used to be their bedroom, but it's not anymore. It's just his. And he hates that. George hates it. He hates himself, too. He can't believe he let him go. He breathes out, forcing himself to sit up, his eyes blurring a little as he opens them, the light burning. Fuck, this is ridiculous. He's ridiculous. George stands up, wobbling on his feet. </p><p><strong>me: </strong>i think im going insane</p><p><strong>sapnap</strong>: ??</p><p><strong>me</strong>: i miss him</p><p><strong>sapnap</strong>: its been two weeks george</p><p><strong>me</strong>: thanks</p><p>He throws his phone at the couch, hoping that it shatters. He doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care, he..he just wants Dream back. He wants his boyfriend back. The big, dopey idiot that would trail behind him and go, "oh Geooorge" until he payed attention to him. He wants his tall, bastard of a boyfriend to kiss him again, to snuggle with him, to just..be <em>there</em>. In the same house. George has never done well on his own, especially not after a breakup. He wants Dream back. He wants Dream back so badly. He misses him so much, and..</p><p>It's not all his fault, George reminds himself. Dream chose it, too. They both agreed to it. What the hell is wrong with them? Neither of them wanted it, George thinks. There's no way that Dream wanted to end it, not with the way he was acting when he came back. Was it as hard for him as it was for George? Seeing his face, his stupid face, <em>god</em>. He had been crying just minutes before, not even bothering to check who was at the door before he opened it. He wishes that it had been Sapnap or Bad, hell, even <em>Wilbur</em>, just..not him. George loves seeing his face. He's handsome and pretty and gorgeous and every other word to describe him. His eyes are such a bright green that he can faintly see them properly. They don't even look like that disgusting, murky-brown Dream and Sapnap have told him about. He wishes he was better. He wishes he wasn't colourblind. He wishes he wasn't himself. Maybe if he was someone different, someone better, Dream would've stayed with him. Maybe they would've stayed together. Maybe Dream would have loved him.</p><p>George moves to grab his phone, reading the twenty messages from Sapnap.</p><p><strong>sapnap</strong>: im sorry i didnt mean it like that</p><p><strong>sapnap</strong>: george??? </p><p><strong>sapnap</strong>: george, dude, im sorry. where are you?? what did you do??</p><p><strong>sapnap</strong>: dont ignore me george</p><p>He reads them, doesn't reply. Sapnap can fuck off right now, he's..George needs to be alone. He hates being alone, but he needs to be alone right now. He can't have anyone interrupt him, talk to him. Break his train of thought. Maybe that's a bad thing, being left to wallow in his own self-hatred, his own thoughts. He hates his head, and he hates being the only one in there to tell it to shut up. Dream always used to help with that, talking enough to take his mind off of the world around him, to be able to break the silence, the pain, the agony of his mind, his thoughts cascading in his skull. He blinks, shaking his head. He has a headache. George sluggishly starts to move, his feet dragging on the floor, legs feeling like stone. Like hardening concrete. But he keeps moving, forces himself to start up the stairs, taking them one at a time, griping the handrail like a lifeline. It takes him around five minutes, and even looking at their door, his door now, makes him want to throw up. George reaches forwards, his hand hovering above the doorknob, knees trembling. Why is he so fucking afraid of..<em>what</em> is he afraid of?</p><p>Ghosts, George decides. The ghosts of their past. His past. What had happened in the last few months. He's afraid of that, he decides. To see the person he once was. Dream didn't take his stupid hoodie or anything of his. He just took a few of his clothes and left everything else for George to think over. He's always been like that. He makes a mess and expects George to be okay with cleaning it up. He's always done that. He never..he didn't think about how George would feel. </p><p>To be fair, George never thought about how Dream would feel.</p><p>He laughs, an echo, hollow sound ringing throughout the hall. No wonder they didn't work out. Neither of them ever said shit and they just expected it to work. They just expected it to work out and be perfect and just..George breathes out, feeling light headed. Okay. He grabs the doorknob, turning it in once fluid motion, swinging the door open. The smell of unwashed clothes hits his nose, but he's used to it by now. It's what he's lived in for the past couple of weeks now. It's his life now, isn't it? He breathes in through his nose, unbothered by the smell. It's fine. He walks forwards, legs barely cooperating with him. He spots Dream's hoodie and his entire composure is lost, his heart shattering all over again.</p><p>
  <em>"Oh, Geoooorge!" Dream called out, his voice sickenly sweet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Dream, don't." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Too late!" He had kicked open the door, just barely. "Hey, babe. How're you feeling?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Like I'm about to beat the shit out of you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dream wheezed, his eyes sparkling in that special, gorgeous way that they used to. "That'd be mean. And you're bedridden, you can't even get up," he sauntered over, hands behind his back. "Hi. I love you. I'm going to kiss you now." George threw his hands up, making gagging noises at that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No!" He couldn't help himself from laughing. Dream always had a way of doing that to him. "You'll get sick, too!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"So?" Dream taunted. "I get to stay in bed with the love of my life. All day! Guess what we could do all day?" He dropped his voice, a smirk playing onto his face. George flushed, looking anywhere but his boyfriend. "We could.." he leaned forwards. "Watch YouTube all day."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Dream!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His boyfriend danced away from his hands, his punches never hitting their target. "What? What did you think I was gonna say, you sicko? Get your mind out of the gutter, George!"</em>
</p><p>George blinks, his mind snapping back to reality. Fuck. He shakes his head, feeling tears on his cheeks. Of course. Of <em>course</em> he'd start crying. What a fucking loser. He shakes his head, stumbling to the bed, collapsing as soon as it's in fall reach. He feels Dream's hoodie under him, pulls it up to his face. He sobs into the stupid thing, sniffling as he grips it harder. It still smells like him. Of fucking course it does, it's <em>Dream's</em>. George laughs, cold and harsh, squeezing his eyes shut. He curls up into himself, pulling his knees to his chest, tears falling faster than they had. </p><p>
  <em>"George."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Stop."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"George, can we..can we just talk about this?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fuck you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"George, don't be like that, please. Please. I love you."</em>
</p><p>He had ruined it, hadn't he? He had been the one to push Dream away, to throw him out. To tell him to fuck himself, that he hated him, that he..that he wished he had never met him. George had said all those things and Dream had only ever told him to fuck off, to go to hell. They never should have said that shit, but George..he did so much worse. He was so much worse. He's such a piece of shit, he..of course this would happen. Of course this would. He ruins everything. He always has and he always will, it's just the way he is. </p><p>George sobs into Dream's hoodie, desperately wishing he was different. Desperately wishing he could move on. </p><p>He knows he can't. He wishes he could.</p><p>Maybe one day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. hell or flying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>:D</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George stares down at his phone, tears still streaming down his cheeks like fucking waterfalls. It's bullshit. He shouldn't be this torn up over a stupid boy..<em>his</em> stupid boy. Dream's always been more than just a boyfriend, he..he was a friend, too. He was arguably George's best friend. Someone he filmed videos with and talked to and stayed up on call with all night. Someone George could talk to. Someone important in his life, someone that was so goddamn important, it..it's ridiculous how much Dream meant to him. How much Dream <em>means</em> to him. He's so important, and he's..George closes his eyes, the tears blurred his vision enough. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, scrolling through Dream's recent posts. Nothing special. Just pictures of Patches. </p><p>God, he misses Patches. He misses Dream. He misses them being together, their stupid conversations. He misses Sapnap complaining all the time about third-wheeling, he just..he hates it. He hates it so much. He misses him. George sniffles, shifting a little on his bed, gripping Dream's hoodie closer to him. He can't believe he's still attached to that stupid fucking thing. Of course he is - it's Dream's. Everything about Dream is..it's so important to him. His dumb smile, his face, his eyes, his laugh. The way he coos and talks to Patches, not like she's a baby, but like she's just another person. The way he talked to George, too. Like he was just another person. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. George has always had self-esteem issues. For as long as he could remember, he hated himself and the things about him. He hated not being able to see the same things that everyone else did, even if he literally couldn't do anything about it. He hated his laugh, the way he looked, how he acted. His personality. When he met Dream, though..it didn't go away, but it was..it was manageable. Bearable. It was easier with Dream. </p><p>It was easier because Dream never fucking mentioned it. He never said anything. Not even when they were fighting, Dream never stooped that low. He never insulted George's looks, the way he acted. He never did that. He helped so much, he was always there to talk and just..he was <em>always there</em>. Now he isn't. The silence echoes around him, his head pounding. His headache is still there. Whatever. George stares at his phone, scrolling through Instagram. He moves past Dream's page, goes to his own. He wants to delete all of those pictures he took. All of the pictures of him and Dream, laughing, being together.</p><p>Being happy.</p><p>George blinks past the tears, trying his best to not let them cloud his vision anymore than they already have. Dream's probably perfectly fine, isn't he? He's always been the stronger one of them. He's always been the glue, the support, the leaning board. George has never been able to do that, to be entirely open and stable. He can't even be stable for <em>himself</em>, let alone another person. But Dream's always done that, he's always..he's <em>always</em> been like that, according to Sapnap. The kid who was always there for everyone else, the first one to listen. The first to offer his shoulder for you to cry on. George never could do that. He barely even managed to take care of himself throughout his life, and he's never been able to take care of anyone else. Dream's fine. He has to be.</p><p>George wishes he could be fine.</p><hr/><p>Dream wipes away the tears, biting down on his lip. What the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with him? He already got all of his shit from George's place, he..he's <em>fine</em>. He's such an idiot, acting like this. He's so fucking stupid. Why the hell is he crying? What's wrong with him? He's fine. He's perfectly fine. Breakups are hard, he <em>knows</em> this, but he's always been able to get over them fast. He's never had much of an issue with moving on. Dream has always been good at burying his feelings when it comes to this sort of shit, but..why isn't he able to now? Patches rumbles, bonking her head against Dream's leg, meowing at him. "I know," he sighs. He does. "Come here," Patches purrs, not wasting any time in doing so. She leaps up onto his lap, rolling over on her side, eyes closed. "I miss him, Patches," another meow. Dream sighs again, wondering how the hell he got to his point in his life. He's talking to his <em>cat</em>. Fuck. "I want George back," Patches opens an eye at the name, meowing again, this time a little more curiously. "Yeah, Patches. George. You know George," Patches stretches on his lap, meowing louder. "I don't know what to do."</p><p>He wishes he knew what to do. Dream always thought he was good at figuring out what he's supposed to do in life. He thought it was one of his strong suits, an ability he had perfected. Things always clicked into place for him, he never had any problems deciding what he wanted to do with his life. Dream stares at his phone, dimly lighting up his room. Patches flicks him in the face with her tail, purring a little louder. He reaches down, running his fingers through her fur. "I think I know what I should do, Patches," he murmurs, reaching for his phone. "I think I figured it out," Dream's hands are shaking, he doesn't know why. It should be the easiest thing in the world. It should be. He sets his phone back down, scooping up Patches, moving her off of his lap. "I'm..I have to go," he tells her. "I'll be back." Dream promises, grabbing his phone, shoves it in his pocket. He wipes his eyes again, sliding on his shoes, throwing on one of his cheap-ass hoodies Sapnap had jokingly bought for him a couple months ago. </p><p>Dream locks and closes his door, sprinting down the hotel stairs. He doesn't even look at the person behind the desk, scrambling to get out of the hotel as fast as he can. He barely even realises it's raining, the rain already soaking him to the bone. Whatever. He keeps going, cutting corners, taking the shortest route he knows to get there.</p><p>To get back home.</p><p>To get to George.</p><p>He pumps his arm, sliding past a corner, almost slamming straight into someone. He breathes in through his nose, his lungs burning. Dream hasn't ran this much in so long, but <em>fuck it</em>, it's <em>worth it</em>. <em>George</em> is worth it. He slides past another corner, slipping on the wet concrete. Dream barely manages to catch himself, pausing for just a second before he's off running again, passing houses that he knows. He spots their house, the bright blue one that everyone always complained was too bright. He had painted it when George wasn't home, off visiting his family for the weekend. George had told him that the house was green (it wasn't, it was yellow), and Dream was well aware of how that looked for his boyfriend. He scrambles up the stairs to the porch, wheezing, his lungs trying to kill him. He knocks on the door a few times, holding his head in his other hand, eyes watering. He's so cold, the rain burrowing into his bones, freezing him to death. The door swings open and he nearly falls on his fucking face.</p><p>"Dream.." George's voice is quiet, barely a whisper. "What are you.." Dream moves forwards, cupping the man's face, kissing him harder than he has in his entire life. George kisses him back, wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Dream pulls away first, breathing a little harder than he had been. "You.."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Dream's voice breaks, and he doesn't have time to think about how much he hates it. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have just left, I should've..we needed to work it out, but we stopped talking, and," he shakes his hand, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. George, I love you. I love you, I'm so sorry." George tilts his head up, leaning forwards to kiss him again. Dream's not really sure if he's crying or if it's just the rain, but he can't find it in him to care. George is kissing him, he's..</p><p>"Shut up," George whispers. "It wasn't just you. I fucked up really, really badly. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything."</p><p>"I know," Dream promises him. "I know, I promise, I know. It wasn't just you, either. I fucked it, too. I messed up. We..we need to talk, George. We have to start talking to each other, we can't ignore problems," he blinks, swallowing. "We have to talk. Even though it's hard."</p><p>"Yeah," George agrees. "Dream, you..you're soaking," he laughs, and Dream can't help but grin, his heart jumping into his throat, threatening to strangle him if he doesn't calm down. "Did you..did you <em>run</em> here?"</p><p>"Yeah," he admits, wheezing. "I didn't..I kind of..yeah," he stutters the words out, not sure how to speak. Not sure what to do. How to act. "I needed to say something before it destroyed us. Both of us. I couldn't live without you, George. I can't. I can't do it, I just..I can't. "</p><p>George takes his hands, leading him inside. "I can't live without you either, Dream. I..I wasn't doing good."</p><p>"I wasn't, either."</p><p>"Where's all your stuff?" </p><p>"At the hotel," he sighs. "I..um, I didn't think that you'd want me back. I guess I just kind of..hoped," he admits, laughing. "I'm sorry. I can call a cab and go back, I know that it's not, like, a normal make-up or anything-"</p><p>"Shut up," George tells him, closing the door behind them. "Shut up. Stop talking," he smiles, his eyes sparkling. They're red and puffy, but they look so, so happy right now. Dream beams back at him, not able to keep a straight face anymore. "I..I love you."</p><p>"I love you too," he promises. "We can fix it."</p><p>"We <em>will</em> fix it," George nods. "We will. Stay here tonight."</p><p>"But Patches.."</p><p>"She'll be okay," he laughs. "She'll be alright on her own for one night. Please?"</p><p>Dream smiles, sighing in defeat. Not like it took much to convince him. "Okay. I love you."</p><p>"I love you too, Dream." George promises him back, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world.</p><hr/><p>George blinks, stirring himself awake. He feels warm, <em>so</em> warm. He blinks again, yawning as he starts to stretch out. He stops himself before he accidentally hits his stupid husband in the face, shifting a little so he can face him. George smiles, watching him sleep. Dream always looks so much more peaceful and calm when he sleeps. Well, everyone does, George thinks. But Dream..he could look at him all day. It's honestly surprising he gets anything done, what,with how much he stares at his husband. <em>Husband</em>. The word rings in his head, sending rushes of serotonin to his entire body. God, he loves that word. He loves Dream. He loves Dream more than anything, he loves him <em>so much</em>. It's almost ridiculous how much he loves him, but he does, and George isn't afraid to scream it to the world. </p><p>He watches as Patches jumps up on their bed, mrowing at him, tail wagging behind her. "Weirdo," he sticks out his tongue at the cat, patting his leg. "C'mere, Patches. Come on." She stares at him, flicks him in the face with her tail, and jumps onto Dream's chest, kneading him. George rolls his eye, idly flipping off the little bastard. She <em>always</em> does that. She says hi to him, and then she has to go and wake up Dream. Loser.</p><p>"Patches," Dream's voice fills his ears, that sleepy, husky tone making him grin. Cute. "Get off," he whines, gently pushing her to the side. "Hi, George."</p><p>"Hi, Dream."</p><p>"I love you." George laughs, rolling over to kiss his husband.</p><p>"I love you too. Someone's feeling romantic."</p><p>"I'm a god at romance," Dream tells him, eyes firmly closed. George knows that he's going to have to threaten war crimes to get him up, but that's okay. He's gotten used to it. He wouldn't have it any other way. "How'd you sleep?"</p><p>"I slept fine," George assures him, curling up against Dream, resting his head on his chest. "What about you?"</p><p>Dream wraps an arm around him, almost immediately. Almost like instinct. "I slept okay," he smiles. "Patches," Dream whines again when the cat whaps him in the face. George giggles, wiggling his fingers on his husband's chest, watching as Patches leaps, hitting him right in the ribs. Dream wheezes, eyes snapping open, immediately glaring at George. "Fuck you."</p><p>"I didn't do anything!" George laughs, nearly rolling off the bed when Dream shoves him. "I promise!" He grins, watching as Patches proudly saunters back to Dream, curling up on his chest. "You don't believe me?" Dream half rolls over, looking extremely unimpressed.</p><p>"George."</p><p>"Dream."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"<em>No,</em>" Dream sighs, but he's smiling. "You should make me breakfast."</p><p>George glares back at him. "I am <em>not</em> a housewife, Dream." Dream laughs, his stupid tea kettle wheeze filling the room. George can't help but smile, feeling warm, feeling perfect. He's right where he's supposed to be, right with his husband. His stupid, <em>stupid</em> husband who acts like an idiot, but his husband nonetheless. George grins, the happiness in the pit of his stomach too much to ignore. He can't believe that they're here, that they've made it. That they're the two idiots who complain about the neighbour's kids and how loud they are. That they're old, but not really, they're only mid-twenties, couple on the block. It's perfect. Dream is perfect.</p><p>It's <em>home,</em> George thinks. And he knows that there's nowhere else better for him to be than right next to his dopey husband and their cat.</p><p>And he's perfectly okay with that.</p>
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